


Release

by Isailaway



Category: Death in Paradise
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Humour, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-13 15:21:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29653320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Isailaway/pseuds/Isailaway
Summary: It really wasn’t how she’d imagined their first kiss - and she’d imagined plenty.
Relationships: Camille Bordey/Richard Poole
Comments: 6
Kudos: 20





	Release

**Author's Note:**

> I was working on something else and am not sure where this came from. 😬  
> Set somewhere between series 2 and 3. I hope that you enjoy it.  
> Reviews would be lovely and very much appreciated.

“Yes, like that. Hands on the desk and legs apart.”

Camille stared resolutely ahead, body tingling. The plain plastered wall of the police station was decorated sparsely, the mirror allowing her to only partially make out his face. His eyes were downcast, engrossed in his task, light and shadows falling across his jawline. 

“Not good enough, spread them further.” 

“I can’t, my skirt-”

“Well whatever possessed you to wear such a tight skirt to work - again! Honestly Camille, what am I going to do with you.”

Camille bit her lip. _What do you want to do with me?_ her unspoken response.

Firm hands placed on her thighs, he inched the skirt upwards and nudged her feet apart with his own, the sight of the smartly polished shoe, laces tied in a neat double knot incongruous next to her garishly painted toenails and casual sandals. 

“Better.”

He ran one hand back down from her hip, sparking goosebumps across her bare legs and stepped in to extend his reach. 

She could feel the heat of his body now, stood so close and willed herself to remain still, not tilt back into it.

Fingers continuing their path, they swept around the contours of her knee and began tracing deliberately upwards across sensitive skin. It made her shiver, fingers scraping against the desk and curling reflexively into her palm.

He leaned in further, unhurriedly straightening each finger back out in turn then lowering his hand to pin hers in place. 

“Wouldn’t want you to get carried away and do something you shouldn’t Sergeant.”

She responded with a minute shake of her head. 

“Now where was I.”

Her hand remained trapped beneath his, bodies now brushing against each other with every movement; a slide of his crisp cotton shirt against her soft linen top, a rasp of his watch strap against the delicate skin of her inner thigh. Chewing hard on her lip to prevent a whimper she twisted a foot back and forth, attempting to widen her stance in the hope it would encourage him but he continued his painfully slow caresses.

Across the room, the second hand of the clock ticked around mercilessly, in rhythm with her heartbeat but surely less than half the speed. Heat burned, low in her gut and reverberating outwards. A fingertip brushed the line of her underwear then moved away once more. She felt she might explode. 

“Please-” the word burst out of her as she pressed her hips backward in search of friction. 

“Patience.” He replied softly, stroking upward again, drifting his hand along the line of damp lace once, twice more and then dipping beneath. 

Camille's head sank forwards to rest on the desk, arching her pelvis catlike. “More.” She groaned. 

The rasping sound of his zip sounded deafening in the quiet room. 

Finally. 

_He was going to- Thank god, she was already so close._ “Richard,” she mewled, lashes fluttering. 

Beep, beep. Beep, beep. Beep, beep.

Beside her, the alarm clock was blaring. In one smooth motion, she rolled over, grabbed at it and launched it across the room, growling low in her throat. 

It took a couple of deep breaths before she felt able to shift herself upwards, resting back on extended elbows. The light penetrating through the blinds told her all she needed to know. It was morning and time to get up for work. 

Glancing down to where the sheets were knotted around her thighs she wriggled, bending one knee and then the other to try and untangle them, the sensation of dampness suggesting she had been using them to rut against in her dream. 

_Mon Dieu she was so turned on._

Dropping her head back to the pillow, she slid a hand down past her stomach to slip easily through wet folds. It would have to be a shorter shower or be late picking him up. 

She closed her eyes, the grainy wood of her DI’s desk decorating her eyelids and sighed, adding another finger and increasing the pressure.

*****

When there was no response to the short honk of the defenders horn, Camille checked her watch, frowning. It was true that she’d got ready in record time after her delayed start to the morning, forgoing breakfast in favour of a hastily downed black coffee and flinging herself out of the door, terrified that if she were late, he’d ask why. But this wasn’t the first time she’d turned up early and ordinarily he’d be waiting for her outside the shack, the days of catching him unexpectedly in pyjamas long behind them. 

She clambered out of the seat and walking over to the side door, she rapped on the wood, cocking an ear to listen for movement from within. 

Nothing. That was strange.

Senses alert, she stepped around the perimeter of the building to the verandah, wondering if he’d become absorbed reading whilst awaiting her arrival but there was still no sign so she continued her search. Typically no-one ventured around the back of the beach hut other than for essential maintenance and the undergrowth had grown up much thicker here. Camille picked her way carefully through brush, pebbles and wind blown sand listening intently for anything out of the ordinary. She thought she could hear a faint trickling sound of water and then a low groan. 

_Richard?_

Reaching a small window just before the back corner of the building, she detected another moan and without giving herself time to think, she rose onto tip toes, holding on tightly to the wooden windowsill and peered in. 

Behind an opaque shower curtain, Richards silhouette could clearly be discerned, the shower head trickling its meagre supply of water down onto his head. 

She ducked back down, heart pounding. He was just in the shower, most likely appreciating the cool water. Nothing to panic about, she would wait back in the vehicle. 

“Mmmm-ahh, C-”

Camille stiffened. _Was that? Was he._ Oh god, she needed to move. She definitely couldn’t stay here. He would never forgive her for invading his privacy like this. On the other hand, a little voice in her head taunted her, it might not be what she was thinking. Her dreams of the night before could have sent her brain on a one track journey which was both inaccurate and would be a disservice to him if she didn’t confirm or disprove her suspicions. 

Head slowly rising, she leant into the window once more.

Richard was stood facing the shower tap. Head bowed, and one hand supporting his weight against the tiled wall, his other hand was held much closer to his body, working in an unmistakable motion.

Unable to look away, she tilted her head to rest against the faded wood frame and held her breath, eyes fixated on the rhythmical movement behind the thin fabric of the curtain. He was panting softly now, hips thrusting forward with each downward stroke of his hand, speed increasing. Camille licked her lips and swallowed. 

“Unnghh, O-oh, Ca- Camille-”

Her eyes bulged.

Hands trembling, she lowered herself away from the window and sank down onto her haunches. _That was- it was._ Mind struggling to come up with words to describe her current state, a bizarre mixture of shock and arousal coursed through her body in waves. She exhaled roughly. 

Inside, the paltry flow of water stopped, the screech of the rusty tap letting her know Richard had finished his shower. Shakily rising back to her feet, she rubbed at her eyes and stumbled back to the defender to compose herself. She’d give him a couple of minutes and then sound the horn firmly to let him know she was outside. 

And then try not to look at him for the rest of the week. 

*****

It was no use, Camille thought, sipping her wine in the living room of her small apartment one evening. The situation was driving her to distraction. Her dreams had been increasingly sexual in nature prior to the last fortnight but now they were consistently x-rated. She could barely look him in the eye when in the office and every-time he stood to lean against the whiteboard whilst pondering a case, it filled her with flashbacks and suggestive images. 

It was so unprofessional. 

It was crazy. 

He’d called out her name. 

If that implied his insides were doing the same lurching as hers whenever their hands brushed when reaching for a case file, or opening a door when out interviewing victims or perpetrators, then something had to be done. Otherwise she might as well hand over her Sergeants badge now for all the use she was being. And if she was way off base, then it surely couldn’t be any worse than the current situation. 

He’d forgive her. 

Eventually. 

Draining the last of her wine she started to consider her options. 

*****

Saturday morning dawned clear and bright, the change in wind direction bringing a welcome dip to the islands humidity. Camille was up early, showered, dressed and vibrating with nervous energy. She drove along the beach road with the windows open, fingers tapping out a restless rhythm on the steering wheel and pulled up into a lay-by, a hundred yards from her DI’s beach shack. 

She closed the door quietly, smoothed her hair back and wandered along the rough track, appreciating the bird song around her and the background constant of the waves sucking against the beach. 

Padding around the side of the small wooden structure, she stepped up onto the familiar verandah, took a deep breath and threw open the patio doors to reveal a bleary eyed, pyjama bottom clad Richard, his sheets lost in a heap somewhere around his ankles. He made an unsuccessful attempt to grab for them as he focused upon her, still half asleep and she allowed her gaze to wander briefly across his stomach, more toned than she’d imagined.

“Morning! I thought it would be a great day for a swim and wondered if you wanted to join me?” She asked brightly.

“What time is it?”

“About 7.” She replied innocently, maintaining her chirpy tone.

“Camille-”

“If you’d rather stay here, then that’s fine, but please can I leave my clothes on a chair so they don’t get filled with sand, or stolen.”

He nodded in response.

Making sure he was still watching her, she pulled her t shirt smoothly over her head to reveal the tiny yellow bikini underneath. His eyes flickered down, a flush rising but he remained silent. 

Meticulously folding the T-shirt, she placed it on the chair by the side of her, and plucked at the button on her Jean shorts, observing his reaction as she slowly drew the zip downward. He didn’t know where to look, eyes caught between her face, the unhurried progress of her fingers and what they revealed, and flitting around the small room as if searching for an escape. 

She shimmied the shorts down her legs and stepped out of them, bending to pick them up. Satisfied with the hiccuped breath from across the room, she allowed the warmth his response created to filter through her body then folded and placed the clothing alongside her top on the wooden chair and levelled her gaze at him, lying motionless on the bed. 

“Do you want to come?” The choice of words was not lost on her, nor entirely on him if his slow blink was any indication. 

“You- err, you go ahead. I’m fine.” 

“Ok.” She tossed him a relaxed smile and spun on her toes, stepping back through the doorway and down onto the warm sand. 

Out of sight she stopped, rolling her shoulders and shaking her hands loosely to relieve the jittery feeling. _How long to wait? Ten seconds, twenty? Could she pull this off?_ Only one way to find out.

Moving lightly on the balls of her feet, she slipped silently back up the wooden steps and peered around the door jam to spy her quarry. _Gotcha._

“Richard, I forgot to ask if I could borrow a towel.” She called loudly, taking a large and purposefully heavy pace back into the room.

Richard lay like a statue, flat on his back with the sheets remaining bunched at the base of the bed and a hand, recently stilled and partially hidden beneath the waistband of his striped trousers. 

They stared at one another for a moment, neither moving. 

Camille took the silence, the total lack of bluster as a positive sign and took a step towards the bed. 

“Can I help you with that?” She nodded her head in the direction of his hips. He gulped. 

There was neither a verbal response nor a removal of his hand. Camille forged onward. 

Another step. “Might release some tension Richard.” 

A tiny nod. 

The mattress depressed where she leant onto one knee. He broke her gaze, roving his eyes across her body, taking in her toned shoulders, long dark curls brushing against them, the bent leg on the side of the bed, her taught stomach and rounded breasts barely hidden behind the small triangles of fabric. Camille felt the weight of his survey, longing tugging at her. 

Finally moving his trapped hand, he released it from the band, which snapped back low across his abdomen, and reaching out, tentatively drifted his fingers across her legs, up and down softly. A delightful frisson echoed up her spine.

Shifting her weight forward onto her hands, she moved her other leg fluidly to sit astride his thighs, lowering her body inch by inch to telegraph her intention. He exhaled shakily. 

“Is this ok?” She asked softly, unwilling to break the quietness of the room.

He nodded again, more definite this time, the tip of his tongue wetting dry lips. 

Camille leaned forward, brushing a palm gently across his forehead, smoothing down across his cheekbones and tracing his jawline.

Richards hand, no longer stroking her leg, hovered uncertainly in the air, before lowering to rest lightly on her forearm. She sucked in a breath, wondering if this was the moment he stopped her, told her it was a mistake and that she’d gone too far, but he began moving his fingers in circular patterns, sweeping around to her inner elbow and up towards her arm pit in featherlight touches. 

His other hand stilled hers, on its path across his face and moved her fingers to his mouth, pressing the whisper of a kiss to the ends of each one before sucking a couple into his mouth. Her lashes fluttered, hips arching into his thighs without design. She refused to feel embarrassed about the sensation of dampness seeping through her bikini bottoms and onto the fabric of his pyjamas. Surely he’d realised by now that his more visible reaction to her wasn’t a one sided feeling. If not, then he was about to. She would show him.

Moist fingers twisted to grasp the hand still loosely encircling her wrist, and she drew it to her breast, encouraging him. He was mercifully quick to respond, caressing the fabric covered globe and reverently holding the weight of it in his palm. Her nipples painfully stiff, she swept her hair to one side and pulled at the tie behind her neck, allowing the fabric to drop forwards and reveal her naked skin to his eager eyes. Another pull at the tie around her ribs and she flung the top aside. 

Richard flicked a fingernail across one nipple, traced around the soft underside of her breast, then tugged her forwards to press his lips to hers. 

It really wasn’t how she’d imagined their first kiss - and she’d imagined plenty. From an angry, impassioned crashing together of lips and teeth when an argument had overtaken them, to a drunken sloppy fumble one night in her mother’s bar. A thank you kiss on the cheek, too close to the edge of her mouth one day when she’d driven him home. Or a chastely polite peck after a first date. None of them had included her sitting astride him, mostly naked in his bed on a quiet Saturday morning sharing hot open mouthed kisses broken only by sharp and necessary intakes of breath. 

He urged her closer, winding a hand around her waist to pull her forwards into him whilst shifting up the bed to sit and rest his head and shoulders against the pillowed headboard. She rocked into him, the new position providing some delightful friction and they both groaned. 

She repeated the action again, and then again before he slid both hands to her hips to still her. 

Camille frowned, breaking their kiss and leaning back just far enough to study him. 

“Shouldn’t we-”

“Please don’t tell me you want to stop and talk about this.” If he stopped now she’d either weep or hit something through sheer frustration. 

“Well-”

“Don’t be so fucking polite Richard. If you’re not into this then tell me now.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Well can we talk later?”

“But we’ll be ok?” He looked concerned.

Camille softened. She stroked his brow, moving to touch her lips to the crease in his forehead. “Yes, we’ll be ok.”

Cupping her cheek he dragged her back in to him for a searching kiss, sucking on her lip then released her once more. 

“What-?”

“Shhh, I want to look at you.” he pressed her shoulders back, encouraging her to sit up. Eyes raking across her body he followed their path with his hands whilst hers traced restlessly back and forth, low across his stomach, scratching along the line of his waistband. 

Reaching the ties to her bikini bottoms he arched an eyebrow. “May I?”

She grinned and nodded, shivering as he undid one tie and then the other, pulling the small piece of cotton away. 

“You’re so beautiful” he spoke quietly, surprising her by slipping a hand down between them to explore her. She arched into his questing fingers, suddenly incapable of doing any more than allowing him room to move. 

“Gorgeous.” He whispered, steadily rubbing back and forth.

“More.” She’d mostly lost the power of speech, rocking her hips and moaning when he adjusted his rhythm and added another finger to rub against her in long strokes.

Holding herself shakily above him, she tried to focus on his face, aware of events overtaking her original plans and her orgasm building faster than anticipated. The look of awe on his face, intently engrossed on what he was doing combined with another firm stroke sent her tumbling over the edge with a mostly inarticulate french curse, waves of euphoria pulsing through her. 

Slowing his movements and replacing firm strokes with gentle caresses, he pulled her down to rest against his chest. Camille buried her face into his neck, soaking up his smell and closed her eyes, sighing in contentment. 

She could hear the wind rustling in the palm trees, the ebb and flow of waves on the beach, and the thud of his heartbeat and thought she might want to stay there forever. 

As she came back into herself his hardness, pressing against her hip became apparent once more and she lowered her hand to cup him. 

He shifted awkwardly. “Camille.” 

“Hmmmm?” 

“You need to stop. I err, I don’t have anything.” 

Camille squeezed, smiling smugly when he jerked against her. “Do you mean a condom?”

Richard puffed out a breath.

“Don’t worry Richard, I came prepared.” She pressed into him again, inhaling the mild smell of sweat at the base of his hairline and then propelled herself off the bed, padding over to pluck a foil packet from the tight pocket in her shorts. 

“Did you really just do that?” The crease between Richards eyebrows had returned.

“Do what?” 

“Come over here to seduce me? You weren’t planning to go for an early swim at all.” Richard accused, pushed himself up into a sitting position, legs splayed out in front.

“And if I did?” She was unrepentant. 

“What would have happened if I said no?”

“You didn’t.”

“But I could have.”

“Richard, do you really want to be discussing alternative outcomes to my actions this morning or do you want to get laid?” 

“Get laid?” A look of mild disgust crossed his face. That’s a rather vulgar term isn’t it?”

Camille grinned wickedly crawling slowly up the bed back towards him. “Roll in the grass-”

“Hay.”

She ignored him.

“Make out.” 

“What are we, twelve?”

“Bang, hump, be intimate, have sex, make love” she hovered above him.

“Ok, I take your point. We can discuss it later.”

“Yes Richard. Good idea.” She lowered her mouth towards his, pulling away once more mere millimetres from his lips. 

“And don’t think you’ll be getting away without explaining to me how you were so good at that.”

“That?” He asked in an obviously faux innocent tone.

She slapped his shoulder lightly. 

He sighed, tucking a stray curl gently behind her ear. “It’s simple really Camille. I’m a detective and an academic.” 

“Explain?”

“Curious, analytical, with a genuine love of studying.” He smirked

“Ah.” She smiled, inclining her head. “You know-, to maintain the skill set, plenty of practical experience is probably advisable. I’d be happy to put myself forward for the role.” 

Richards smirk widened. “I’ll consider your application. But some evidence of your suitability will be required.”

Camille swept her hands across his ribs pressing him down to the bed and stretching over to rest her skin against his. “I’ll get right on it.”


End file.
